Escape
by Mona Haze
Summary: Haruka, who narrates this torrid tale, is with Michiru, when she spots a beautiful young blonde with unusual pigtails across the bar. They flirt, or rather, Usagi teases Haruka subtly from afar. Light BDSM. Part 1. haruka/usagi usagi/haruka sailor moon/sailor uranus harukaxusagi usagixharuka


We're sitting in a corner booth. My arm is around her, lightly caressing her shoulder, my gaze blankly resting on her teal hair. She's gesturing wildly, telling a story to our friends who are newly coupled and entwined, listening intently.

She throws her head back as she laughs, clapping her hands together. As her laugh dies, she rests her body on mine and looks up.

I know this face and it is beautiful. I smile back.

I love this face.

I take a sip of my whiskey. I am the only person at the table who ordered their drink on the rocks.

"I feel like I never see her anymore." She tugs at my tie lightly. I immediately straighten it, and give a weak shrug.

I say something about not getting enough sleep lately. Our friends nod solemnly, recounting their own tales of sleep deprivation.

She leans over, resting her chin on her clasped hands. I casually look around, scanning the bar in the middle of the restaurant. There's a trio of girls and a single man in a suit.

The girls are cute. They hold their straws while sipping their drinks, and they laugh a lot. The sort of thing I could get lost in.

Movement in my peripheral distracts me. The man in the suit is getting up, his arms outstretched.

At 5'5" of seraphic perfection, your arms are wrapped around him. Your slender waist is shrouded by pale gold hair, your face an instant shot, each soft, feline feature rendering paralysis.

Against your hair lay two pigtails secured by rounded balls of hair. On anyone else it would be tacky, fraudulent youth.

On you it is as genuine as art.

Your fingers weave through his jet black hair. His hand squeezes your waist, easily wrinkling the white fabric of your dress.

I feel dizzy and possessed.

Sudden laughter jolts me back into reality. I immediately chuckle so I don't get asked any questions. I pull her close to me and kiss her head.

I don't want to look. If I just stay this way, all I'll smell is her. Her shampoo. A hint of her garden. Amber incense. Stay this way.

The side of my face burned. I felt helpless. I felt myself turn.

You were tracing circles around the rim of her wine glass with one finger. When you listened you looked coy, and when you spoke you were animated. You ran both hands through your pigtails at once, and softly grazed your arms with your fingernails. You were constantly moving, wide-eyed and vibrant.

She squeezed my arm lightly.

"Babe?"

I apologized. I'm so tired.

It's okay, she said, and kissed my cheek. My eyes were closed, and I tried to imagine that it was you. It wasn't convincing.

I looked back at you. He wasn't there. You were sipping your wine, looking around, observing. When your eyes stopped on mine, I realized I didn't know what I would do once I left.

You looked at her, and back at me. When I didn't break my gaze, you narrowed your eyes slightly.

He slid into the chair, right between us. He began talking to you again, as quickly as before. You nodded and smiled, but every so often, I saw your eyes flit my way over your wine glass.

I smile, staring down at my drink.

When I look up again, your hand is resting on his shoulder, your mouth at his ear. You both get up, and circle the bar, sitting with your backs to me. At first I think it's a cold way of snubbing me, but then I see you eyeing me as you position yourself so that every line of your body is visible to me. I can see the gentle dip of your waist, and your delicate, rounded shoulders.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and divert my attention back to the conversation before me, chiming in lazily with a generic response.

I look back at you. You're toying with his tie, and his hand is on your thigh. You lean in and whisper something in his ear, arching your back so that the curve of your ass is perfectly defined. I finish the last of my whiskey. A familiar swell of desire makes me have to close my eyes for a moment.

Now he's standing, looking at his phone, and straightening his tie. He strokes your cheek for a moment, and kisses you on the lips.

Now you're sitting there, alone, tapping your fingers lightly on the side of your glass. You vaguely look in my direction for just a moment before you get up, run your fingers through your hair once, and start to walk this way.

Even though you're not looking at me and clearly heading past me, I'm overcome with fear that I'll be found out, that if you're that close to me there's no way I can possibly hide it.

But I sit stoically, even in that second where I can feel the heat of your body momentarily next to mine.

Her fingers rake my stomach. So smooth and flat, she was saying. Apparently they had been talking about exercise routines.

I gently push away her hand and excuse myself. I don't feel too well, I say, which isn't a lie. I walk down a long corridor, the way you went.

When I open the door, I freeze. It's a solitary but sizable bathroom. You're at the sink, applying mascara.

You turn and give me a look that says, are you coming in or not?

I look side by side real quick and slip in, closing the door behind me. You grin as you twist the tube of mascara and drop it into your bag. You turn and lean back against the sink, hands propped against the edge of it.

My eyes are locked with yours. Neither of us open our mouths to speak. My hand finds the door and locks it.

You keep your eyes on mine as you slowly walk towards me, until your body is inches from mine. Your hands find the lapels of my jacket, and take them between your fingers, feeling them gently. I glance to the right, into the mirror, catching our image for a moment. Your white dress, cinched at the waist and laced at the sleeves, eclipses my all-black outfit. A little over a head taller, I stare down at you, slightly slouched.

I move my hands towards your waist, but you grab them suddenly, and raise them slowly to the nape of your neck. The sides of my fingers are tickled by your hair.

You lower your body slowly, my hands following you, until you're on your knees, looking up at me.

Seeing you at this angle, the wideness of your eyes maximized, the overt desire to serve, makes me almost lose my grip. I fumble to adjust my grip, my head leaning back, bracing for what's to come.

You softly put your mouth to my mid-thigh, cradling it delicately with your two hands. You kiss me long and slowly, sending waves towards my loins that never ebb.

I feel your tongue, vaguely wet, languorously tracing circular patterns, guiding your mouth upwards along my thigh.

I can't breathe, I can barely see or comprehend anything in front of me. My breathing is so loud, and my heartbeat is practically hurting my ears.

You teasingly move your mouth up and down, now licking me with long and adoring strokes, all the while looking up at me, your single concern being my pleasure.

As you approach where I need you to be, I let out a quick but loud moan. Your eyes widen, but you don't stop worshipping me, holding me tightly.

I some how manage to lean over and turn the sink on, letting the water run loudly.

"Oh my god," I whisper, feeling a bit more free than before.

You take this as your cue to full on kiss me down there, right in the center, making love to me with your mouth alone. You kiss softly and then lick hard and long, you leave your lips lingering and then lap gently and quick. Your eyes become increasingly desperate, and once in a while, I can see you twitching to touch yourself.

My right hand is a fist full of hair, and my left is clutching the collar of my shirt. I'm about to lose it, and in the back of my mind, I know I want more of you.

I manage to tug on your sleeve, urging you back. You rise, licking your lips with your eyes closed. I pull you close to me, forcing you on your tip-toes so that your chin rests on my shoulder.

I want you on a bed. I want to fuck you in every way, I want to scream while I come under your hand, inside your mouth, over you and beneath you, against you and with you.

I'm furiously massaging your breasts as my eyes burn into yours. I want to rip your dress off, but in the back of my mind, I know our time is almost up.

I spin you around and hold your waist, pressing you against me. You slowly gyrate your hips, your perfectly rounded ass grinding softly against me. I feel those same waves swell, and I feel like I'm almost over the edge.

I spin you back around and push you back down, holding the back of your head firmly with my hand as your mouth as pushed against me. You lick furiously, moaning uncontrollably right where your tongue is slaving away, and I'm coming, coming so hard I have to shove my balled up fist down my mouth, biting so the pain reminds me to behave.

When it begins to subside, my body relaxes. You stand up, calm and satisfied, grinning coyly. I'm sweaty, breathing heavily, weak and ecstatic. My eyelids hang low, I can feel them - I'm ready to pass out with you inside my arms.

You fix my hair a bit, and wipe the sweat off my cheeks and neck. You straight out my tie, smooth my lapels, and fold the cuffs of my sleeves. With a few sweeps of your hand, you clear my shirt and pants of wrinkles.

You still stare at me all the while. Staring so you know that I know that you are for me, and only for me, in this moment.

My hand drifts between your legs, but you gently grab it, pushing it away. You lean up, your lips brushing my ear.

"That's for next time."

Your voice is pale whisper, with just a hint of an airy timbre.

My hand stays, frozen and stubborn, as you pull away. I stare you pleadingly, even though that's the last thing I would mean to do.

You pull a small paper and pen out of your bag, and write on it slowly before handing it to me.

_598-555-3948_

_For when you need an escape_.

A tinge of guilt sours my delight, but I'm not sure if it's guilt for the one I'm with, or the one I'd like to explore.

I slide it into my pocket, and bite my lip as it occurs to me that next time, I may actually hear you, screaming, coming, writhing and heaving and panting, all against me. I want to control your pulse, your heartbeat, your breath, your voice, your everything - I want you so badly I feel like I could come just thinking about you.

You gives me a peck on the cheek and walk out.

Your absence magnifies your effect on me. I feel like I'll never be able to walk again, like I've been injected with some kind of drug that'll take hours to wear off.

But I eventually do leave, sit back at the conversation I mime my way through, while my mind replays the image of an angel at my knees, dreaming simply of the next moment that is ours, and ours alone.


End file.
